


warm_nostalgia's 30 Day OTP Challenge

by warm_nostalgia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Cuddling & Snuggling, Czech bad guys, Downton Abbey mentioned, First Kiss, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, John is a Downton Abbey fan, Locked In, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing Body Heat, Sherlock Speaks French, Sweet Kisses, Television Watching, ben made a rude remark about it too, bilingual sex, but i forgive him, but martin freeman is not, freezers, have you SEEN the bafta gif, they're jerks really they are but they're wonderful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warm_nostalgia/pseuds/warm_nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm writing these when I have time and when the mood strikes me, so updates might be erratic. But I will strain to do all 30 challenges. These will all be the same universe and such, though it won't be screwy if you want to read a random one, but they'll all be chronological. If that makes sense.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding hands

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the conclusive list of the challenges I'll be doing, which I stole from probably another stolen source:
> 
> 01 - Holding hands  
> 02 - Cuddling somewhere  
> 03 - Gaming/watching a movie  
> 04 - On a date  
> 05 - Kissing  
> 06 - Wearing each others’ clothes  
> 07 - Cosplaying  
> 08 - Shopping  
> 09 - Hanging out with friends  
> 10 - With animal ears  
> 11 - Wearing kigurumis  
> 12 - Making out  
> 13 - Eating ice cream  
> 14 - Gender-swapped  
> 15 - In a different clothing style  
> 16 - During their morning ritual(s)  
> 17 - Spooning  
> 18 - Doing something together  
> 19 - In formal wear  
> 20 - Dancing  
> 21 - Cooking/baking  
> 22 - In battle, side-by-side  
> 23 - Arguing  
> 24 - Making up afterwards  
> 25 - Gazing into each others’ eyes  
> 26 - Getting married  
> 27 - On one of their birthdays  
> 28 - Doing something ridiculous  
> 29 - Doing something sweet  
> 30 - Doing something hot

“ _John!”_

 

John Watson swung around, alarmed, as the goon he'd just fought thudded to the rooftop's floor with a groan.

 

Sherlock yelled in pain as the other man they were fighting ground down on the fingers the detective was using to grip the rooftop's ledge in attempt not to fall off.

 

_Oh God. Sherlock._

 

John yanked the perpetrator backward by his collar, the two of them dancing across the surface in a stumble. Regaining control, John twisted one of the thug's arms backward in a way that arms were  _ not  _ supposed to twist and pistol whipped him across the temple before he let him drop. 

 

“John– _John!_ ” Sherlock very nearly shrieked, the bruised hand slipping off the edge. It looked as if the detective was scrabbling his shoes for purchase on the brick beneath him as he held on with one hand, his other arm swinging in the cool air. “Today, please!”

 

John was already running over and dropping to his knees, leaning down grabbing under one of Sherlock's arms. “Other arm, now!” he commanded, snatching Sherlock's swinging arm and tucking his hand under that armpit, too. “Can you heave yourself any?”

 

“Trying...” Sherlock met John's eyes as he struggled. “John.”

 

“Come on, heave yourself. Trust me.”

 

“John, look at me. Listen.”

 

John tore his eyes from the street far below them that led into a busy intersection. “What?”

 

“I love you.”

 

John hesitated for a few seconds, chest warmed and his grip never relinquishing. “Shut up. Shut  _ up  _ and pull yourself up here.”

 

After several long minutes (or hours, perhaps months, maybe centuries) of more tugging and encouraging and tears dripping down each other's cheeks, John gave a yell as he pulled Sherlock up once more, by the hands, with all the might he had left, sending them tumbling backward onto the rooftop and clutching onto one another. They were breathless, still crying, pulse racing, and John pressed wordless kisses against Sherlock's cheeks and forehead.

 

“I got you. I've got you, love. I've got you, Sherlock. God, I love you too. I'm in love with you too,” John whispered, letting Sherlock breathe into his jacket as his tears subsided into shaky, quiet inhales. 

 

Detective Inspector Lestrade, along with Sally Donovan and 'some simpleton rookie' (as Sherlock had called him a couple weeks ago) headed in the door to the rooftop, guns raised. 

 

“I'm so sorry I never said anything,” John whispered as he nosed Sherlock's hairline, pulling away and inspecting Sherlock's hands. 

 

“Christ, you two,” Greg Lestrade hissed at them as the three officers wrangled the two delirious men into handcuffs. “What happened here?”

 

“He was hanging off the ledge of the roof. What was I supposed to do?” John shot back wearily, carefully sliding his gun into Sherlock's deep coat pocket without the three's notice. Sherlock hid the motion by covering John's with his and entangling their fingers. John also saw this as a sign of sentiment and looked back at him, giving a very gentle squeeze (it was the crushed hand he held after all) and brushed a kiss to his forehead. “It'll be all right.”

 

Sally stood with the rookie holding up the first one John had knocked over, and the sergeant stood gaping at the two flatmates, and then glanced back at her boss, who gave her a look back that clearly stated “keep your nose out of it.”

 

John, meanwhile, was kissing both sides of Sherlock's hands, the palms red and ripped and superficial, the fronts–the crushed side red and purple and blue and the other hand clean, but still sore. “I'm sorry,” he whispered to his hands. “It was just like–it reminded me of–when you were on Bart's...”

 

Sherlock pulled away his hands to cup John's face. “Relax.” He took John forward in his hands, pulling him to his chest as the wind whipped the seven figures on the rooftop. “Lestrade, can we save the statements for tomorrow?” he asked, lips brushing John's hair as he spoke. 

 

Greg sighed, glancing between them.

 

“Please,” Sherlock sighed, eyes pleading.

 

“Fine, fine, yeah. I'll text you, Sherlock. Be _on time_.” Lestrade shifted the criminal in his hands. “D'you two need a ride home?” 

 

Sherlock glanced down at John, who pressed closer into Sherlock's neck and murmured, “Cab.”

 

Sherlock looked to Lestrade. “Hail a cab. We'll be down shortly.” 

 

“Sir, we can't keep them waiting,” Donovan chimed in, nodding toward the door.

 

Lestrade nodded, heading to the door with the others. “Be on time,” he reiterated.

 

Once the door slammed behind them, Sherlock raised John's head up and leaned in to capture his lips roughly, arms around him. They kissed for a couple minutes, unable to let go, and John pulled away, hands in Sherlock's curls and breathing against his lips. “Don't bloody do that to me again.”

 

Sherlock responded by tugging him close again, their hands intertwining once more.

 


	2. Cuddling somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door slammed heavily behind them with an air of finality. John inspected Sherlock's face. "Couldn't keep your mouth shut for just a couple minutes, Sherlock?"

John and Sherlock seemed to sort of fall into a casual, albeit awkward relationship in the days after the rooftop incident. There'd been a lot of kisses (ranging from tiny childish pecks to bruising snogs) and hesitant sexual experimentation (rutting, rocking, sucking, fucking – _Christ!_  John's heart sped at the memories and he had to force the blood from his cheeks upon the reoccurring thoughts in his office at the clinic – Sherlock spoke French as he made love to him, for God's sake). They'd been stuck in Baker Street with each other, very pleasantly content without the Work for a while, actually.  
  
It was just natural to their lifestyle that they'd been caught up in another slightly terrifying incident only a week and a half later.  
  
Originally enough, they were both manhandled into a walk-in freezer by two quite moody Czechs with guns thicker than John's fist. Said guns were pushing into their lower backs as they grunted commands in broken English. And to make matters worse, Sherlock was correcting them whenever they used incorrect tenses, and had already been backhanded twice as John grimaced and felt a bloom of anger and sympathy grow in his chest.  
  
The door slammed heavily behind them with an air of finality. John inspected Sherlock's face. "Couldn't keep your mouth shut for just a couple minutes, Sherlock?"  
  
"They actually said, 'Shut out or I hurt yours little friend.' John!" Sherlock protested, brushing the concerned doctor's hands away.  
  
"Just pitiful, isn't it? Good thing you _shut out_  eventually." John stepped back. "You did call the police beforehand?"  
  
"Yes. I'm afraid I didn't tell them that we were going to be with the slabs of dead pigs, though."  
  
"Freezing our bums off," John murmured, huddling in a corner by the door. He sat on a box filled with milk bottles.  
  
"Already?" Sherlock asked, stripping off his scarf and passing it to his lover, who took it with a puzzled expression. John held it back out.  
  
"You'll need this, though."  
  
"No, I have a collar. Yours barely does any good, and don't put it up. Makes you look shorter than you actually are."   
  
John's hand retreated back, and he swiftly tied the scarf around his neck. "Any idea of getting out, then?"  
  
"Freezer's got a code to get in. Nothing to go off of for the owner's interests. We'll have to wait until we hear the police."  
  
John rubbed his nose, which was turning a bit pink. His arms spread with a sigh. "Then come here. It'll be a longer wait than I thought."  
  
Sherlock looked contemplative a moment, but then twitched a smile and sat on the carton next to John. He took one arm out of his sleeve to drape the cape-like Belstaff over the both of them, and their arms entwined.   
  
It still didn't quite warm the two men, who shivered through the next painful hour of cold that even living in England could not prepare them for.   
  
"Sh-Sherlock," John chattered softly, affectionately, brushing his lips over Sherlock's hairline.  
  
"We should h-have sex," was the reply he got.   
  
John blinked rapidly and turned pinker than he already was. "In a m-meat and dairy freezer?"  
  
Sherlock's frosted green eyes fixed onto John's. "Not romantic enough?"  
  
John laughed gently. "You mean to get the blood running and k-keep 's warm?" His lips felt numb, and he chewed the lower one when Sherlock nodded. "Dunno if we should. Bit...cold for naked skin on milk bottles."  
  
"Is this innuendo?" Sherlock asked. In response to John's lost expression, he said, "Milk bottles."  
  
John burst into giggles. "No, Jesus. C'mere, cuddle w-with me a bit," he pleaded.  
  
Sherlock did as he asked, smiling numbly into John's neck, which sustained some semblance of warmth. He leaned a bit too much, and knocked them onto John's back against a shelf.   
  
"Shit, ouch, Sherl'ck. Idiot."  
  
"Ap-pologies."  
  
"You don't mean that." John was smiling.  
  
"No, not really." Sherlock closed his eyes against the skin of John's neck, and the ex-soldier pulled the black wool over their hands, warmth engulfing them slightly. Sherlock hummed.  
  
They kissed lazily for a while, mouths warming each other along their lips, tongues, cheeks. John lipped Sherlock's nose and chin and jaw until they were slowly grinding their erections together over the material of trousers and jeans and pants. John's fingers were numb, and he wanted to pull off Sherlock's clothes, but he knew if he did that, he'd send him to the hospital for hypothermia.   
  
Eventually, they managed to wrangle out just their cocks, rutting madly, and hell, sex really did help warm them up, John supposed as he bucked up against him, their mouths and wanton moaning never relenting.  
  
They were far too into it to remember that they were eventually going to be rescued. And – God, no, it was Lestrade's voice they heard yell through the freezer's door. Sherlock had just clutched him in warning that he was _almost there, God, fuck, John, John,_ _oui, Jean –_  
  
"Sherlock! John! It's Greg! You in there?" It was muffled, but unmistakably the detective inspector.  
  
" _Merde,_ " Sherlock grumbled out, shivering violently as he leaned up and tucked himself back into his trousers, doing up his belt. "Yes! We're suffering and John needs tea!" he yelled through the thick door. "And we were quite busy," Sherlock hissed.  
  
"Thank God. We'll get you two out in fifteen, tops. Owner's heading over. We got a confession from one thug who led us there. What was that thing you said last? You were what?"  
  
At the same time that Sherlock blurted, "Frotting!" John shouted, with anticipation, "Freezing!"   
  
John slapped Sherlock on the arm, then hurried to do up his belt as well. "Freezing, we were...freezing. Are still. Please hurry," he begged through the door loudly.  
  
John could almost hear Lestrade running a hand through his silvery hair and cringing in disgust. "Right, boys. Straighten yourselves out and...keep warm some bloody other way!" he scolded.  
  
"Told you we should've j-just cuddled," John murmured, hunkering against his partner once more.


	3. Gaming/Watching a Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I cheated a bit. This is a TV show they're watching. 
> 
> WARNING: SPOILERS for Downton Abbey, season 2. ohmigosh. :,(
> 
> Also sorry this is seriously, seriously super short. But it's all I could do for this, and hey! Two uploads in one day. You're welcome.

"The evidence could be under his ex-wife's fingernails. She did bake the pastry herself, did she not?"  
  
"Sherlock, shaddup. I'd like to watch."  
  
"Watch. I swear it'll happen."  
  
"Shush! Shush, they've got evidence!"  
  
There was a pause as John turned up the volume of the telly.  
  
"Ha! What'd I tell you?" Sherlock laughed haughtily. "Pie crust under the nails. Suicide. So obvious. Good God, John. You honestly watch this show?"  
  
"It's good!" John defended, nudging Sherlock's head off his lap as he sat up a bit on the couch with him. He paused the show.   
  
"It's about a wealthy family who loves to spend and lose their fortune, make fun of the redheaded funny-nosed one, and have scandalous affairs. John, our _landlady_  watches this."  
  
"It's _her_ boxset, genius. And it's about the downstairs, the family's help, too!" John protested.  
  
"Boring." Sherlock surged forward and tackled John for a kiss, tipping him back against the couch's arm. John's eyes fluttered closed as he let out a throaty moan, and the telly remote thunked to the carpet amidst their chuckling. 


	4. On a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, I'VE POSTED THREE, AND AM HAVING PROBLEMS SPREADING THIS OUT FOR EVERYONE.
> 
> Okay, okay, I love you all, and I'll post next year.  
> ha.  
> ok i'll leave bye.  
> just have a beautiful New Years.

"This is...Sherlock, is this that...fancy new French restaurant you mentioned?" John breathed out. "Christ, I won't get past the dress code officers. Sherlock!" He turned and grinned at Sherlock in the cab as the car pulled up to the circle-drive front of the restaurant.   
  
Sherlock rubbed a flushed cheek and shrugged. "You're impressed?"  
  
"Very much. _Very_  impressed, love." John laughed and leaned over to kiss Sherlock gently on the lips. "Come on. Let's see if we can get in with my jeans on."  
  
"I'm sure they'll comply if you take them off," Sherlock shot back cheekily as he climbed out of the car. John fumbled awkwardly with the notes he passed to the driver, along with an apology for his partner's behavior.  
  
An hour and a half and a shared pasta dish later, John and Sherlock were paying the bill and sliding their coats back on. "I've got another place to take you," Sherlock murmured.   
  
"Sherlock, what's all this about?" John asked with a grin. "You didn't break something valuable, did you?"  
  
"We've never been on a date. Not a proper one, John. Aren't I supposed to do all this?" Sherlock retorted, tugging them outside and around the corner, gripping his partner's arm.  
  
John laughed. "Kidnapping," he giggled as he skidded behind him on the icy sidewalk, leading onto an icier pedestrian bridge. "Hah – shit, careful, love. I'm a pig on ice skates, here."  
  
"I _am_ careful. Right here, stop!" Sherlock checked his watch. "A moment."  
  
"There are quite a few people over there. Families and couples, looks like." John pointed across to a clearing in a park.   
  
"Yes, and they're all quite annoying."  
  
"Sherlock, what's happening?" the doctor asked, a smile pulling at his lips.  
  
There was a pop.   
  
Both men turned as the first of many fireworks sizzled and fell back to the earth. "Oh, Sherlock," John whispered, smiling at the detective as more fireworks began to shoot off. February _was_  fast approaching, he realized. Valentine's Day in a couple weeks, he recalled as red and white bursts filled the darkened blue London sky.  
  
Something clenched in John's chest.  
  
"I love you," John heard Sherlock murmur from behind him, hugging him from behind softly. John tensed a moment before relaxing completely, the detective's confession almost inaudible over the booms of the light show. "I mean that, John." John turned in Sherlock's arms, cupping his cheeks, inspecting the gorgeous red in his partner's cheeks from the fireworks, cold, and own embarrassment at sentimentality, and he laughed again.  
  
"Oh God, I love you too. You know that." John swept up for a soft kiss as the finale blasted off, and refused to end the lips' embrace until he heard the clapping and cheering signaling the end. He was sure he heard a few pedestrians walking by once he realized it was over. He pulled their lips away, breathing hard and giggling. "I love you too, Sherlock. More than anything." He traced a thumb along his cheekbone. "Thank you so much for this. This has been such a fantastic date."  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Not a problem. Mycroft paid for our dinners, anyway."  
  
John hesitated. " _That's_  why you wouldn't let me see the check." And then he smiled boyishly, winding his arm into his detective's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you next year! x


End file.
